


Tell Me Now

by xSilentHarmony



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Art Student!Steve, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, M/M, Manipulation, Organized Crime, Violence, assassin!Bucky, assassin!Natasha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-17 00:11:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4645191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xSilentHarmony/pseuds/xSilentHarmony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a story that begins and ends with a gunshot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell Me Now

**Author's Note:**

> So, basically this entire one-shot came about when I watched Trouble Maker's "내일은 없어 (Now)" MV (specifically the uncut one). I just kept playing the song and this came out of it. If you would like to watch that MV, click [HERE](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rmbvqYvpKXo) to watch it.  
>   
> Also special thanks to my friend Ashley for betaing and putting up with my nonsense. You're a real trooper. Check out her [TUMBLR](http://ashley-vh.tumblr.com)!  
>   
> Also, the Major Character Death tag can be interpreted in different ways. I'll leave it up to you to decide how exactly it applies. There is death in this story though.

Line up the shot. Put the finger on the trigger. Let out a breath.

He blinks and pulls the trigger. A light ping sounds; otherwise, it’s silent. With the light from the full moon, he watches through the scope as the slender, short man tumbles to the ground surrounded by abandoned buildings, blood beginning to cover the ground under him.

He swallows, his heart as steady as it’d been when he first stepped into this room. He stands and pulls the rifle from the window. He puts it into the case and slams the case shut before walking out of the room calmly.

No one would find the body for a good twenty minutes.

As he heads down the stairs of the building, he pulls a phone from his pocket. He presses the number two and pushes the phone up to his ear.

“Is it done?”

He says nothing.

“Good. Payment will arrive soon. You’ve done well.”

The line goes dead as he reaches the bottom step. He shoves the phone back into his pocket and heads towards a door that’s falling off its hinges. He pushes the door out of the way and steps into the cool night. The chill from the silent, full-mooned night breaks through his dark clothing and brushes over his skin.

He can already faintly hear the roar from the several vans filled with cleaners pulling towards his target. Besides them, this area of the town is empty.

The perks of being on Alexander Pierce’s payroll.

He pops open the trunk and slides the case under a false bottom before shutting the trunk lid. He steps to the driver’s door and opens it. Sliding into the seat, he grabs a rag from the passenger seat. He steps back out and walks around. He wipes the bottom edges of the car clear from any dirt that would be noticeable and looks at the dirt surrounding his tires. Where the tires sit are two distinct lines of tire treads from where he pulled in earlier.

Looks like a new set of tires will be needed.

He goes back to the driver’s side and shuts the door. Turning the key, he puts the car into gear and speeds down the road. He passes the slumped body and the people surrounding it as he continues down darkened roads with only the moon to show him where the road ends. When he gets close to a red light a couple of streets away, he flips on his lights and slows down to just five over the speed limit.

As the light turns red, he stops behind a car and pulls the gloves off his hands. Looking in the rear-view mirror, he pulls the ponytail from his hair and runs a hand through the long locks. Cold, icy blue eyes stare back at him.

He looks back at the road as the light turns green and continues on. He makes a turn at the next light and pulls off to the side as he comes upon a building of apartments. He flashes his lights twice and waits.

His fingers tap on the steering wheel, and he thinks back to who’s waiting for him at home. He looks at the clock.

Two in the morning.

Within a minute, the passenger door opens and a woman with red hair pulled into a bun slides gracefully into the seat. She slams the door and looks at him with disinterest.

“You look like shit, James.”

“Thanks, Nat.”

She smirks and slides her legs onto the dash. She crosses her arms.

“What do you want? I have to leave in ten minutes.”

James rolls his eyes and looks out the driver’s window. “Don’t you ever get tired of it?”

Natasha laughs. “Even if I get tired of it, it’s not like I can just leave. Not with what would happen to me if I did.”

“Not even for Sam?”

Natasha turns her head, her jaw set. James looks from the window towards her. He takes in the hard look in her green eyes.

She stares at him directly as she says, “Sam doesn’t know. Sam can never know.”

“And if he found out?”

“Well the amount of people who know about Sam and my other life I can count on one hand. I’d take that number down to zero if it meant keeping him from it,” Natasha says without even blinking. “Do I need to?”

James smirks and looks away. After a minute, he asks, “Can you get Clint to change my tires? Fucking Rumlow can’t choose good places to save his life.”

“Rumlow’s an asskisser to Pierce. You’d lose your tongue for badmouthing him like that.”

“Well he should learn how to find better spots for me to do my job.” James asks. He groans. “This is the third time in the last month I’ve had to get my tires changed.”

“Good thing Clint’s a mechanic, huh?”

“A shitty mechanic.”

“But a mechanic nonetheless.” Natasha pulls her legs from the dash and sits up in her seat. She puts her hand on the handle and opens the car door before shutting it again. She looks at James. After a moment she says, “We all do things we hate for the people we love.” With that, she opens the door again and climbs out with the grace of a ballerina. She shuts the door and steps into the darkness near the apartment building.

 

* * *

 

Hands wrap around his waist and pull him close to a warm chest. Bucky sighs and snuggles closer to the warmth.

“You were out late last night,” the voice says.

Bucky opens an eye to glance at the blond. His heart thuds harshly at the thought of him asking what he was doing, but then it settles.

He’s a ghost, after all.

“Rough night at the bar?”

Bucky laughs once and snuggles even closer than before. His feet rub against the other’s hairy leg as he looks up. “A little. When do you have class?”

“Not for a while.” he smiles. “You know, the offer to model for me still stands. I’d love to have the living reference of most of my art instead of just what my mind can remember.”

“And what does your mind remember, Steve?” Bucky wiggles an eyebrow and moves to push Steve into the mattress. He hovers over him, his hair falling over his shoulder. He smiles at Steve as his knees settle on each side of Steve’s hips.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Steve asks. His head moves and his lips catch Bucky’s.

Bucky breathes deeply when they finally break. Steve’s always had a unique smell about him, and Bucky can never get enough of it. He runs a hand through Steve’s short hair as Steve massages a hand down Bucky’s side.

“What are you thinking?” Steve asks.

“Nothing.”

“You can’t lie to me,” Steve replies. Bucky holds back the bittersweet chuckle. If only he knew.

“It’s nothing, really.” Bucky looks Steve in the eye and smiles. He moves his hand from Steve’s hair to his chest. He settles the hand where his heart beats smoothly. He sighs, focusing on the beat.

Steve frowns. “You keep hiding something from me. I’m not sure what it is, but whatever you think is so bad that you have to keep me in the dark,” he reaches a hand up to cup Bucky’s cheek and forces him to look into Steve’s eyes, “I can handle it, Buck.” He smiles widely. “I love you. Nothing will change that.”

Bucky wants to tell him the truth. He wants to tell Steve everything right then and there. But then he remembers Natasha’s words.

_We all do things we hate for the people we love._

He thinks about how to phrase what he really is to Steve.

He’s a monster, and the only good in his life is Steve.

Maybe he’d start with, “I kill people for a living, and not by serving them alcohol like you think. I’m more in the shooting-people-to-kill-them business, and even if I tried to get out, I never could. You’re in love with someone who has so much blood on his hands he knows there’s a special spot saved in Hell for him.”

No. Steve could never find out.

“You know, when Natasha introduced us that night at Sam’s party, I never thought it’d be like this.” He pauses and looks at Bucky’s icy blue eyes. “Honestly, Nat usually has bad taste when it comes to helping me meet people.” He laughs. “Who knew I’d meet the love of my life that night as he stared out at the people in the party looking like some brooding hero. I still sometimes sketch that night when I really need inspiration.”

Bucky forces himself to smirk. “Oh yeah? And why not sketch other things? Like the way you’ve made me scream right in this bed?”

Steve blushes and looks away. After a minute, he murmurs, “I sketch those too… sometimes.”

Bucky grins. “I knew it.” He slides from Steve’s lap and walks around stark naked, the afternoon sunlight warming the room as it shines through the window blinds. He stretches. “And just where is this sketchpad?” He catches a glimpse of the sketchpad sticking out from the backpack Steve dropped there the night before. He pulls it out and moves back to the bed. He flips to the first page and sees a sketch of his side profile. He looks up at Steve and grins as Steve groans into his hands.

“You’re not supposed to see them,” he says.

“Then you shouldn’t have told me,” Bucky replies. He flips to the next page to see a sketch like what Steve had described. Their first meeting.

 

* * *

 

“James! You made it!” It was a pretty noisy party. Thankfully, Natasha lived on the top floor of her apartment complex. James was sure if the neighbors were anyone other than Clint and Pietro, they’d probably complain. Many people at the party had a beer in hand while they chatted with other people or danced terribly to the sensual music playing.

He grinned as Natasha hugged him tightly. She stepped back and pulled her arms from around him soon after and turned towards a male standing a few feet away. He wore a dark dress shirt with slacks, and he had a bright look in his eyes as he stared at Natasha. “This is Sam. I told you about him earlier. He works at the VA.”

Sam walked up and smiled brightly. “Nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

James shook his hand and nodded. “Good things, I hope?”

“Only the best for my brother,” Natasha replied. She winked at James. “There’s also someone else I want you to meet.”

James’ smile waned and he glanced around. The last time she did this, she tried introducing him to one of the “friends” she’d made at Clint’s shop that ran the front desk. That “friend” turned out to be one of the worst dates James had ever had the displeasure to be on, and he killed people for a living.

“Come on. He’s over here.” Natasha grabbed his right arm and jerked him. Before she could get far, he stopped her and pulled his arm from her grasp.

She turned and raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“I’m tired of these terrible dates.”

“Seriously?” Nat asked. She crossed her arms over her chest. The way she acted, you would never believe she killed people for a living as well.

“Really,” he replied. He patted her arm and stepped back. “I’m going to,” he waved his right arm towards the crowd, “mingle.” He turned and slouched his shoulders.

The crowd of people parted for him as he forced his way between them with his head down. Some people tried to talk to him, asked what was wrong. Others continued without saying anything. He made it to the other side and settled on a bench.

He let out a breath he’d been holding and just let his mind wander.

These people all had nothing to worry about.

Would it be so bad to live a life like most of these people? Walk around not paying attention to the people in the alley were trading drugs? Walk around not knowing that a few blocks away someone was getting murdered for shirking on some deal with a big crime lord?

James sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“You know, if you look any grumpier, you’re going to get permanent frown lines.”

James looked up and saw a tall male with blond hair styled just messily enough to look stylish with a tight shirt fitting around his chest and arms, and pants that hugged his body in all the right areas. His blue eyes shined brightly, and he smiled like he’d never had a bad day in his life.

“I’m Steve. Steve Rogers.” He offered his hand.

Bucky brought his hand up and grasped the outstretched hand. “James, but you can call me Bucky,” he replied. When their hands touched, James knew he was in trouble.

 

* * *

 

“We have another assignment for you.”

James glances into the doorway at the sleeping lump on his bed. He grips the phone tighter.

“When and where?” he asks.

“The details will be sent to you shortly.” The line goes dead.

James drops his hand and turns back to the bed. He crawls in behind Steve’s sleeping body and curls next to him. Part of him wonders how much longer he can keep this up, but he knows where this is heading.

“Who was it?” Steve murmurs.

“Guy from the bar. Wants me to help him move to an apartment,” James lies smoothly. He smiles at Steve and wraps himself around the other. Steve sighs and settles even closer than before.

“If you need more hands, I’m sure I can help. Unless I’m in class.”

James looks at him with wide eyes. “No. I can handle it.”

“Are you sure?” Steve asks.

James doesn’t answer.

 

* * *

 

“Why the hell isn’t he dead?” Rumlow’s voice rings over the phone.

James steps away from the bedroom and into the bathroom. He shuts the door as Steve stretches on the bed. He turns towards the mirror and stares at himself.

It’s the first time he’s openly defied orders.

His heart beats wildly in his chest, and he swallows a couple of times before settling on the toilet seat.

“Damn it, Barnes, we gave you the damn place and time. You’re telling me you couldn’t get it done? Or were you too busy enjoying all of the things you have us to thank for?”

James is silent, as he always is when speaking with them. He continues to stare at the mirror. His hair is matted, and circles are beginning to appear underneath his eyes.

Probably from the lack of sleep he’s getting anymore.

“He’s not going to be happy,” Rumlow says. “He wants you here. In a half hour. Or you’re going to be at the other end of that barrel you love using so much.”

James pulls the phone from his ear and clicks the off button. He clicks the screen off and stands. He brings a hand up to his face and presses the circles under his eyes.

For the first time in a long time, he smiles brightly without being in Steve’s direct presence.

 

* * *

 

 

"Who's Steve?"

James stops. He refuses to turn around. Despite his demeanor, his heart beats a mile a minute. He's sure his heart's beating even in his ears. He swallows.

"I thought you promised we would be your life." Pierce moves next to him. He settled a wrinkled hand on his shoulder and squeezes. "Now you're ignoring missions, ignoring our calls, and forcing our hand."

"He's no one. Just a fuck." Even as he says those words, he bites his tongue.

"Then you wouldn't mind if Rumlow paid him a visit. Where is it he goes to school, Grant?" He looks up at the man standing by the door. The man grins and mimics scissors snipping with his fingers.

James gulps inaudibly.

"Columbia. Art student."

James glares at Grant as Pierce steps around in front of him.

"Now, I really don't want it to come to that. We just need to know how much you're still dedicated to us."

James shudders a breath. He refuses to look Pierce in the eye.

"How?" James asks.

Pierce sighs. "We need to know there's no more distractions."

James is silent.

Pierce moves to his desk and taps his fingers on it a few times. "Get rid of him. Any means necessary."

"You want me to kill him?" James almost drops at the thought.

"Oh, no. That's too much work, and people would actually miss him. No, I want you to break his heart into a million pieces. Ruin him. And hey," Pierce smiles, "Think of it this way: you'll be inspiring all of his art in the future."

                                

* * *

 

Bucky bites his lip to keep from crying. He grips Steve's shoulders harder, forcing him deeper. He hears Steve's sigh and bends his neck back as he moves in sync with Steve. He wraps a leg around Steve's waist and moves even harsher than before, the bed forcing the floorboards to squeak in protest.

"Fuck," Steve groans. He buries his face in Bucky's neck, his pants heating Bucky's neck even more.

Bucky's hand winds through his short hair and pulls his face even closer. He moves to rest it as close as possible to Steve's face.

His heart beats erratically in his chest. He swallows and grasps Steve even tighter.

He stares across the room as a single tear slides down his cheek.         

He moans and curses when Steve wraps a hand around his erection and tugs with his thrusts.

They move faster, Steve's hand continuing in time with his thrusts.

When Bucky finally comes, he lets tears finally slip. When Steve asks him what's wrong, he smiles and promises him he’s fine. Steve doesn’t believe him, but Bucky continues smiling when he says he just got caught up in emotions.

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky’s still barely awake when he hears the voices in the living room. He shoves the bed sheets and jumps to stand. He steps around the noisy spots on the floor when he hears Steve yell at the other person. A door slams. Bucky’s eyes rush to the spot on the wall where the kitchen is. His breath hitches as he takes off. His feet are light against the floor as he races into the kitchen, his stomach dropping at the thought of what might await him in the kitchen.

Instead of a murder scene, Steve sits facing away from Bucky at the kitchen table looking at photos in front of him with shaky hands.

“Steve,” Bucky says. He takes a step forward, his toes curling on the cool tiles. His eyes are locked on the table with the overhead light making that spot look brighter than the rest of the kitchen. He wonders what Steve could be looking at.

He stops when he sees the photos.

Bodies lying facedown in their own blood. Photos of his distinct physique behind sniper rifles.

“Is it true?” Steve asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky swallows and pulls his eyes away to look at Steve. Steve’s bloodshot eyes flicker up at him for a second before looking back at the photos. Steve tugs at the crumpled sleeves of his sweatshirt and pushes them up as he runs a hand over his face. Who had showed up to break the news to him?

“Is it true?” Steve asks again, this time in a louder voice.

Bucky replies in a soft voice after a minute of silence. “Yes. But not because I wanted to.”

Steve stands and turns to face him. He shakes with every breath he takes.

Bucky wants to wrap him in his arms and take all the bad away, but he stops himself.

“How—how can you do that for a living?” Steve asks. He shakes his head. “How did I not see it?”

“I didn’t know how to tell you, Steve, I—”

Steve laughs.

“Didn’t know how?” Steve’s focus is on the floor. He blinks a few tears. Bucky’s chest constricts at the sight.

“Steve, I’ve done a lot of bad stuff in my life. I know where I’m going when I die. But you’re the one good that’s ever been in my life,” Bucky says. He steps forward, a shaky hand reaching for Steve.

Steve shoves the hand away and looks up. “Maybe you should’ve thought of that when you were murdering people for money.” He steps forward, and his face turns red. “How many people did you kill?”

Bucky’s silent.

“How many? Or did you lose count?” Steve asks. He’s a breath away. He laughs and licks his lips. “You don’t know.”

“No, I don’t,” Bucky replies. “I never wanted to count.” Bucky’s heart beats uncontrollably. It’s difficult to breathe.

“You son of a bitch,” Steve says. His hands move up, and Bucky feels the weight of the push when Steve shoves his hands against Bucky. His hand balls into a fist. Bucky’s limp as Steve slams his fists into his chest, barely hurting anything except Bucky’s already-broken heart.

With each hit, he utters, “You son of a bitch! I trusted you!”

Steve stumbles after more hits and soon drops his hands. He sways and looks Bucky in the eye. He blows out a breath.

“You’re not even going to defend yourself?” Steve asks.

Bucky breathes deeply and replies, “I don’t want to hurt you.” He looks at the floor, and his eyes trace the pattern. Anything to escape this world now.

His heart is already gone by this point. He’d hoped to at least keep Steve from finding the truth.

But he’d never be safe as long as Pierce knows about him. Even if he’d broken Steve’s heart like he had been ordered, Pierce would still have people follow him and eventually put Bucky behind the barrel of the gun pointed towards Steve.

Bucky’s eyes clinch shut when Steve brushes past him and heads towards the door. With a slam, Steve leaves his life forever.

It all ends the same for Bucky, and he is damn tired of it.

 

* * *

 

The line picks up.

“James?” Nat asks.

“They told him,” he says. “He found out. I don't know who it was.”

“What do you mean?”

“Someone showed up to my damn house and showed him pictures, Nat.” James breathes. “They’ll pay for that.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Nothing. Just,” he pauses. The other line is silent for a time. “Let him know I always loved him.”

“James—”

The line goes dead.

 

* * *

 

He'd already said goodbye to Steve, even if Steve wasn't taking his calls anymore. In his mind, he says one final goodbye as he grabs his silver pistol and holsters it as he steps out of the car. A little ways away stands Pierce with Rumlow and others by his side. If Bucky had played this another way, he could have sniped them all and been done with this.

But that's not how this goes. That isn’t how Bucky needs this to end.

He swallows a lump in his throat and continues. He moves to stand in front of Pierce.

"You want out," Pierce says. He frowns. "After everything we've done for you. Do you honestly think you get to walk away from this?"

"No. I know how this ends. I've been at the other end enough times to know what's waiting for me." He glances up at the building a little ways away. He thinks he catches a glimpse of red, but he can't be sure from where he's standing. He turns back.

"We had such high hopes for you, James." Although Pierce is sympathetic, Rumlow stands beside him with a wide grin.

Bucky grits his teeth from biting down so hard to keep from saying anything.

He knows how this ends. He's known since the start. This is the spot where he dies. Whether they choose to leave him or have cleaners take care of his body is another thing. He only hopes Steve isn't left waiting for him.

"I'm sorry it's come to this." Pierce turns and waves the others.

Bucky has less than a minute before the shot.

His hand reaches the gun in its holster and raises it.

The first bullet shoots through the back of Rumlow's head and out the front. The second gets the other man beside Pierce.

He runs for cover by his car and moves him arm to shoot Pierce as Pierce runs towards the dark, bullet-proof car waiting for him.

Bucky breathes deeply. He knows this is it. He stands, his arm steady. He raises his hand and aims.

A shot rings out into the night.


End file.
